


You're Pretty Ok, kid

by JELL_0 (orphan_account)



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Author Is Sleep Deprived, Junkertown (Overwatch), Junkrat | Jamison Fawkes is a Little Shit, Kid Fic, Loss of Innocence, Loss of Limbs, Loss of Trust, No Sex, Not Beta Read, Platonic Relationships, Young Junkrat | Jamison Fawkes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-26
Updated: 2020-01-26
Packaged: 2021-02-27 13:07:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,009
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22417480
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/JELL_0
Summary: Jamison is a ten year old struggling in the harsh conditions of the Outback. He has a priceless Item, and everybody wants it. He finds help in Roadhog, a large and terrifying man, who has to make sure Jamie doesn't fucking blow himself up. Will they make it together. MAYBE!?
Relationships: Junkrat | Jamison Fawkes & Roadhog | Mako Rutledge
Comments: 1
Kudos: 45





	You're Pretty Ok, kid

**Author's Note:**

> Hello everybody. I hope you all enjoy the revamped version of My old story Pretty Ok Kid. May you could check that out too. As always critism is always welcome, and wanted. Please be kind in the comments, and enjoy. Maybe I'll finish this one this time.

Jamison had snuck into JunkerTown. He fidgeted and twitched barely able to contain his nerves. People wanted him, more specifically, they wanted what he had. Jamison needed to hide, to get away. They kept coming after him, and he knew that they had no qualms about killing a child. Oh, he could feign being pitiful, and frail, or sick. They wouldn't care. Nobody in this god forsaken shit hole ever did. Not a single one.  
People milled about JunkerTown. Blokes and Sheila's alike. They minded their own business, and Jamison minded his. He twitched. He had always been twitchy. Jamie couldn't recall in the 10 years of his scatterbrained life, a moment where he stopped moving. He had always been so twitchy.  
" Twitchy, just like a rat," That's what Hornet had said. A twitchy junkrat. Scuttling through scrap just trying to get by. Kinda ugly, and might have a couple diseases. A thief. Hornet had been right about him. About everything. She had said that it, the Item, would bring all sorts of trouble. Well look where he was now.  
Jamie felt a pang in his chest thinking about what he had lost. About who he had lost. Watching so many people die, waste away, decay. He shook it out of his head, and walked faster, with purpose, but nowhere to go. Completely pointless.  
The sun breathed it's hot, dry, arid breath onto his back. Jamie would have slipped his tank off by this point if the risk of sunburnt wasn't so high. Not the sore, stinging kind of sunburn that was just a mild irritation, no, more like the kind that gave you horrendous blisters, and a constant, aching throb of pain. The kind that made you hyper aware of your own skin. The kind of sunburn that made you feel like you were a pile of limp meat wrapped in wax paper. The kind that made you remember that you were in this god forsaken shit hole, and that nobody cared.  
Jamison found himself walking nowhere. He had woven through the streets and alleyways, and gotten himself lost. He scratched at his patchy hair with his right hand, the joints on the rickety prosthetic caught in the soot covered strands. Some of it came out, the greasy blonde chunks sunk to the grime covered concrete. Jamie tapped his foot, his boot was untied. Tripping hazard. His peg creaked. Nasty accident, with both limbs, both times.  
He sighed and patted his side bag, it had become another subconscious tick of his. To make sure that he hadn't lost it. It being the priceless treasure. The Item. The one he had been stupid enough to go dig out of the remnants of the omnium. The one that had piqued the Queen's Interest.  
Jamie pulled his canteen out of his belt. He tried to drink from it, but nothing came out. It was completely empty, bone dry. Jamison was sure he had refilled it.  
"Damn it," he sighed, and capped it. Putting the canteen back into the belt of his camo shorts he looked around, his nervous fidgets now more frantic. Maybe he could just go drink out of some billabong somewhere? Nah, he was already irradiated as it was. No need to add more to the pile.  
Jamison would, unfortunately, need to go buy some water. Which was expensive as all hell, and currently he didn't have a zack. Fine, he would just stick his fingers into somebody else's pockets, piece of piss.  
He didn't want to. He already had enough shit to worry about, and enough people who wanted him dead. He needed water, and more than anything he needed something to do. Jamison thought that if he sat there, twiddling his thumbs, for one more goddamn second, that he would explode!  
Jamie chose some rando to follow around. Looked like he had change to spare. The guy was also obviously piss drunk, so the made him an easy target. Jamie walked behind him, slipping past the other sweaty bodies that occupies the narrow streets of JunkerTown.  
It was easy enough, Jamie just slipped the legless bastard's money pouch off, and slunk away. It felt wrong. Not stealing the guys stuff, Jamie didn't give a damn about that, just that it was so simple. Nothing was ever simple for Jamie. He wouldn't look a gift horse in the mouth. If the cruel Outback offered him her good graces, then who was he to turn them away?  
Jamison wandered back down the street. He really couldn't read, maybe a few words, only enough to get the gist of what the hell was in what store. Jamie came to a halt. He couldn't make out anything other than 'pub'. Maybe they had water inside? They sold drinks thats for sure. Jamison pondered going into the small wooden building for a second, then pushed the scratchy fabric aside. His peg leg thumped loudly on the wooden floors.  
Jamie went to the counter. The pub was stuffy, and there were only a few people strewn about. Not many people wanted to lose their senses in the wasteland apparently. Jamison vacantly wondered if the man he had robbed had come from this bar.  
"What's a scrawny ankle biter like you doing in 'ere?" The man at the counter was a rough grizzled man, his voice was low, and gravely.  
"Jus' wanted to see if ya had water," Jamison saw the man's brow crease. "Ta buy, I'm obviously not askin' fer free mate," The man grunted, and held out his hand. Jamie placed the pouch of money in his hand, and watched as he counted the money out. The gruff man gave him back his change. There wasn't much.  
"I fill 'em up in the back, some asshole ran off with our water jug once, can't trust nobody," He grumbled some curses directed towards whoever had done the aforementioned crime.  
Jamie shrugged and slid his canteen across the counter. He heard the curtains slide open behind him. He barely gave it a second thought.  
The man came back, and handed Jamie his canteen back. No trouble here. Jamie was tempted to down the whole damn thing, but held back, he knew he would regret it if he did. Jamison turned, he peg clunked as limped towards the exit. He was stopped. Four, maybe five men surrounded him.  
Enforcers. The Junker Queen's lap dogs. They would do anything just to stay on her good side, and get the benefits. Good food, Good beds, and the promise of protection.  
Jamie, tried to side step them. They stood firm. That made it obvious. They were here for him. Jamison needed to play nice, or he'd be cactus. He smiled as sweetly as he could, what with his dirt soaked skin and crooked teeth.  
"G'day, it's a hot one s'arvo!" Jamison laughed nervously. He gave them a little wave as they backed him against the wall. Jamie heard the fabric swish open again, and heavy boots thundered loudly across the small pub. There was no sign of help.  
"Listen closely, Rat'" The first man began. "I know you have what the Queen wants, just because your a runty, snot-nosed brat, doesn't mean I won't beat the shit out of 'ya," The group drew closer to him. He didn't have anything to defend himself with, and even in the case that Jamison had brought any of his weapons, well let's just say, it doesn't take a genius to figure out what happens when you use explosives in confined spaces.  
The man pointed the business end of his knife at Jamison.  
"It's very simple, talk, or I'll hurt you," The man was grinning like a shot fox "which will it be?"  
"Gentlemen, Gentlemen, this is all a misunderstanding!" Jamison raised his hands defensively. " If I had known there was a priceless treasure buried somewhere I would be happy to tell the Queen, but I don't so problem solved, yeah?" A larger man answered him this time.  
"I'm afraid not,"  
"You've run your mouth one too many times Junkrat, the Queen knows your hidin' something," The man stepped forward "or I bleed ya until you do,"  
Junkrat twitched at his nickname. Well his real name in the eyes of the wasteland. Nobody knew any Jamison Fawkes around here. Only Junkrat. Twitchy, filthy, thieving, loud mouthed Junkrat.  
Junkrat peered behind the group of men surrounding him. There was some standover man at the bar, a big bloke, with hands as big as Jamie's body. He looked like he could crush a block of pure steel. Jamie couldn't make out much else, the man had his back to him.  
"Look mate, I said I didn't know anything about any treasure, but if I did, I would share it with a friend," Jamison hoped to whatever fucker was up there, that this would work. " I would give him TEN PERCENT!" The large man looked over, but not much else. The group of men were closing in on Jamie, while the one that had been interrogating him went over to the standover man. It sounded like the Queen didn't like him very much either.  
"TWENTY PERCENT!" The men grew closer to Junkrat, alright it was either appeal to that big fucker in the corner, or die. "TWENTY FIVE?!"  
There was the sound of glass breaking as men were thrown, punched, and just generally getting the shit beat out of them.  
When it was over, Jamison felt like he was staring death in the face for the fifth time in his life. Not just the general looming sense of impending doom on the horizon, no, actually staring death right in it's...pig face?  
The man before him was HUGE, and very round. He had strong, muscled arms, and an old world gas mask, shaped like a pig. His large gut bore a tattoo, Jamie didn't bother reading the words, it had a cute little piggy. Very jarring in comparison to the man's intimidating behavior.  
"I knew it! I knew you looked like the fine, upstanding sort!" All Jamisons brain was screaming was, get out. "Now for the treasure, what did we agree on?" Jamison pondered. What number had he stopped at? "Twenty five- er no ten percent, Yeah ten percent of it!"  
"Fifty" came a low, deep grumble. It sounded like distant thunder. Jamie whirled to look at the man. He was a good three feet taller than Jamison.  
Jamison desperately tried to haggle. It was to no avail, and he didn't really want to piss the big lug off, so fifty-fifty it was. 

…

Jamison was in the lovely abode of...Roadhog. Everything was big, just like the man himself. Jamison was already pretty small for his age, height and weight. Maybe not so much height, but he did slouch a lot. Junkrat had also managed to retrieve his grenades, Rip-Tyre, and Drag Launcher.  
He had removed himself of his sweat slicked tank top. Exposing his frail chest, protruding ribs, and sunken in belly. He looked like any other kid the wasteland bad to offer.  
Jamison peered at the large man. He was staring right back. Junkrat felt his nerves give way again, and he giggled. His ticks, and twitches, and jerks started.  
The man said something, but he didn't quite catch it.  
"Wot's that?" Jamie tilted his head, much like a dog listening for something.  
"I asked if you were hungry," Roadhogs voice rumbled. It sounded like the man had gargled sand for a living. Jamison nodded his head vigorously at the prospect of food. The man grunted. "We'll talk about what we're doing next when we get there,"  
"When we get there?" Junkrat echoed, limping after Roadhog's large strides. He could barely keep up.  
They got outside, and Jamison was greeted with the BIGGEST goddamn bike he had ever seen. Roadhog sat on it, and it sagged under his weight, he grabbed Jamie by his vest, hoisted him into his lap.  
"Don't fall" was all the man grumbled as he revved up the engine.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you all so much for reading and your continuous support. Im thinking of doing the chapter from Roadie's POV next time. 
> 
> Your support means a lot to me, thank you for reading! <3 :^)


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